They usually serve salmon at these dinners but tonight he described his meal as "some kind of white stuff without any sauce to mask the taste."
I asked him what he'd had for dessert. The caterers usually redeem themselves then.
"We had apple-crappy," he replied.
Apple-crappy? I hadn't heard of it but it sounded intriguing. "What is that?" I asked. "Oh, apples and crusty crap, you know," he replied, making a beeline for the pan of brownies in the kitchen.
If you have a recipe for apple-crappy, please let me know. I want to try it, if only for the pleasure of announcing to my guests, "It's apple-crappy!" (I guess I'd better serve brownies, too.)
I rarely accompany the MOTH to these dinners, but when I do, I entertain whoever is sitting next to me by telling him in an undertone (and it's always some distinguished "him," since these dinners have seating charts) to watch the MOTH as he pretends to eat his fish. It's usually pretty entertaining. Much better than discussing Wittgenstein or aboriginal archaeology. Or my chronic unemployment situation.
When the MOTH is out pushing around some fish, it gives me a chance to eat anything I want for dinner. My favorite meal lately is the same one I preferred when I was four: peanut butter on crackers with a big glass of chocolate milk. Tonight, I had a roasted sweet potato mashed with goat cheese, brown sugar, and salt — a dish containing two of the MOTH's most-hated foods.
I think I would have enjoyed some apple-crappy afterward.